London Rain
by Scarlett Oakenshield
Summary: I found him waiting in the cold, On the little street corner... In that London Rain.


I found him waiting in the cold,  
On the little street corner...  
In that London Rain.

Arthur

Rain. It always rains here. The rap-tap rata-tat-tat of the drops upon the sidewalk are that of an endless symphony. A comforting symphony. It's steady tempo in beat like the finest of compositions.

Even the biting chill of the cold drops that kiss my skin are comforting. The rain keeps me company, in this vast solitude.

But it's also a lonely symphony...like an endless gloom. With the solemn tones reflecting upon this solitary, miserable existence, the steady beat of the drops slapping the ground blocking out all other sounds.

The rain is cold and dark and dreary. A reflection of my life- cold, dark, and dreary.

I sit on the street corner, waiting in the gloom in hopes of a passing cab or waiting for nothing, my shoulders hunched and the cold wind and rain soaking me to my skin. I can't help but shiver. I had forgotten to bring an umbrella today, which was stupid of me because I should have expected rain in the middle of bloody winter.

I continue to sit, and wait, for a passing cab or for nothing. For all I cared I could sit out in the pouring rain and freeze to death. I had to desire to go home. I had nothing to go home to, except for a group of abusive older siblings and irritating younger ones, frowning down upon me and my useless job. A waiter at a cafe didn't pay much.

I had been longing to pursue my career as an author, but everyone around me told me it was "Wishful thinking"

'You might as well not even bother.' says Dylan.

'Its a lost cause, lad.' Says Allistor, 'It's not going to get you anywhere.'

'Your books won't ever get published." says Lisa.

I sigh. I grew so tired of them ridiculing me.

My thoughts of hailing a cab slipped away, and I decided against them. I watch them pass and continue to sit on a curb. They wouldn't notice one lonely fool buried in a crowd stuck in his miserable existence.

The rain continues to fall down upon me, and the wind continues to whisp about me. I shiver and sneeze, hugging myself around my soaked woolen black coat, my messy, soaking blond locks plastered against my face, which stares down at the soaked and slippery concrete.

Today it feels particularly cold. And particularly lonely. And particularly silent. And particularly...sad. The reflection of the mood of the lad who belongs nowhere.  
I feel warm water leaking from my eyes. And I let myself cry. Cry over this miserable existence. I feel bad for me. No one notices the lonely lad on the empty street corner.

FRANCIS  
I keep my head down and my umbrella over my head as I walk down the sidewalk in the pouring London rain, my boots ever so often splashing in the tiny puddles across the concrete. I was headed back to my flat from the theatre. Alone. So alone. And this weather was most ghastly. Though I silently thanked the lord above that there wasn't enough strong wind to blow my umbrella inside out. I did not fancy getting soaked and coming down with a cold.

My thoughts were empty, save for the one that wanted to get back to the flat. It was as if the rain had washed all my thoughts away.

I listen to it. The steady pitter-patter of the slapping drops hitting the pavement. It's a sad, lonely sound. C'est parfait pour mon mood solitare. I think to myself.

I walk on and reach the street corner, and then stop suddenly and look down. Because that was when I found him. He was waiting in the cold, soaked to the bone, On that little street corner in that London Rain...the saddest, most beautiful man I had ever seen.

His body is hunched over, and I can only see his soaked blond head. His arms are wrapped about his shoulders, and his face is partially hidden in his wool scarf and the collar of his coat. He shivers. He does not notice me. He sneezes. Then sniffles. And then I realize his shoulders are shaking. A soft sound escapes his mouth...the sound of quiet weeping.

My heart goes out to him as I watch him sitting there, helpless and cold. It hurts to see someone in such sadness. I cannot just stand there and watch him cry.

I walk over and hold my umbrella over his head, the steady rain soaking my wavy, shoulder-length blond locks. It takes him a moment to realize, but then slowly, he looks up at me.

His puffy eyes are a striking shade of emerald green.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

Arthur

For the longest time I sit and cry. I barely notice the rain hitting my freezing skin anymore. Until it stops. I slowly look up. There is a man standing there, holding his umbrella over me. He wears a long blue coat and a red scarf, a black beret on his head of wavy shoulder-length blonde hair, which falls about a face that has bright blue eyes and an expression filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

I do not know what to say. No one has ever been so kind to me before. So I say nothing. I just stare, sniffle and wipe the tears from my eyes.

"Monsieur?" He has a smooth French accent in his voice.

I sneeze.

"You're going to catch zee cold if you stay out 'ere. You're already soaked. 'Ow long 'ave you been 'ere?"

I didn't know.

"I don't know," I reply, "Time sort of slipped away from me."

"Are you waiting for a cab?"

I shake my head. Then sneeze.

Then he asks, "Do you 'ave somewhere to go?"

Home. I want to say. But the Kirkland house wasn't home...it didn't feel like it.

"Not really, no." I sneeze again. I felt utterly angry and vulnerable.

"You shouldn't be out in zis weather. You can come back to my flat if you'd like."

"No...thank you but I really shouldn't...I-ACHOO!"

"Please monsieur, I insist. You don't 'ave to stay long. Just enough time to dry off, warm up, and have something 'ot. I would feel terrible leaving you in zee rain like zis."

I am surprised at this man's offer. No one has ever been so kind to me before. I knew I shouldn't go home with strangers...but there was something about this man that, for some reason, I had a gut feeling I could trust him. I sneeze again.

"Well, alright. I supoose I could stay for a bit. Thank you sir." I say. "But I need your name."

"Francis. Et toi?"

"Arthur."

He holds out a hand for me. "Well alright, Arthur. It is a pleasure to meet you."

I take his hand and he pulls me off the ground, then he holds the umbrella over both of us, and we walk down the sidewalk, our shoulders brushing so we can both fit underneath the umbrella, and we start to talk.

And suddenly, the rain symphony doesn't sound so lonely anymore.

And I found him waiting in the cold,  
On the little street corner...  
In that London Rain


End file.
